


The Killing Stone

by frostian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostian/pseuds/frostian
Summary: A supernatural creature is targeting the citizens of Hanover, using the town's children to do her murderous biddings. Sam and Dean have been called by Bobby to help him solve the case. It quickly becomes a race of time as the Winchesters try to find a way to kill a creature older than Christianity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Hanover, California  
October, 1969**

John Michael Thurmond sliced the homemade bread his wife had baked last night. The crust was soft - not hard - just the way he liked it. He spread peanut butter evenly over the pristine white surface. He then cut the banana in such a precise manner that each slice had the same thickness.

 _Nice to know all that Army training didn’t go to waste,_ John thought wryly as he placed the sliced bananas on top of the peanut butter. Then he gently laid the jelly-smeared bread on top. It was without doubt the most perfect peanut butter and jelly and banana sandwich ever made under his roof.

After making two more such sandwiches, John flopped down on a kitchen chair and aimlessly thumbed through the local paper. Richard Nixon was on the grill, again, and for the hundredth time John was glad he had gone out of the military back in ’65. The reports from his buddies who were still in service were nothing short of brutal, and John prayed daily for their safety.

The phone broke John out of his depressing reverie and he quickly turned down the radio just as the Dells launched into a chorus of ‘O what a night’. He picked up the receiver but didn't say anything, listening carefully for any foreign noises. Even though the phone company had guaranteed they had a private line, John suspected otherwise. He had grown up on sharing lines and knew the telltale clicks and rattles.

“Good afternoon, Thurmond residence," John said after a long pause.

“John, it’s me.” Amy, his wife, replied.

“Hi sugar, why are you calling?”

“I’m getting off work early today. The library is dead so Mrs. Dennis is letting me go at four.”

“That’s good news. Do you want me to take out the steaks now? That way we can eat as soon as you come home.”

“That sounds lovely,” Amy replied happily. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

“Any idea when the company wants you to go out again?”

“Not for another two weeks,” John answered. “And I doubt they’ll send me away as long as they did.”

“I hope not,” Amy said. “Six months! I still can’t believe it!”

“Me neither,” John said. “But the money sure came in handy, didn’t it?”

“Still, we missed you so much! How’s the baby? Is she being good?”

“Jenny is being a sweetheart. Don’t worry about us; just get home so I could fire up the grill.”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Amy said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” John replied earnestly.

He hung up the phone and stared out the window. The town of Hanover was enjoying a bout of Indian Summer, and the trees were lazily swinging about, giving the illusion of dancing. John closed his eyes. California’s weather was one of the many things he had missed when his boss hired him out to a papermaking company in Toronto in order to help the firm increase its productivity. John personally thought any help he could give would be useless as long as the idiot that ran the place held onto his lofty position.

John jumped a little when he heard “Dad!” pipe out from the living room.

“You home, Simon?”

“Yeah, and Bethany is here too! We have to do a report about Apollo 11 for science next week!”

John smiled. Simon and his friend must have slipped in while he was off daydreaming. “Okay, let me fix something for Bethany too.”

He made two more sandwiches but left out the bananas since he knew that taste combination was particular to him and his son. He heard a soft, female voice laughing from the family room and smiled. At first he wasn’t too keen on the idea that his eleven-year-old son having a girl as his best friend. Then Amy told him about Mike Rendell who struck up camaraderie of sorts with Simon during his absence.

Mike was the unmitigated nightmare. Half the time he bullied Simon into doing things he’d never do. The other half he would have Simon in some unhealthy thrall with his bad-boy charm. Amy had been driven to tears and had spoken to the teacher many times about the relationship. Then, Mike just stopped coming to school. John did a surreptitious check on the boy’s family and found coven of ne’er-do-wells who had, in all likelihood, split when the collection agency for the bank came calling. It wasn’t long after that Bethany showed up. Bethany who always did her homework, who was very nice to Simon in spite of his size.

_Fatty Fatty Two by Four, Can't Get through the Schoolhouse Door._

How John hated listening to that growing up. It wasn’t until he hit fifteen that he suddenly packed on the height along with the weight. Even now he was careful with his snacking habits. Unfortunately, Simon was suffering through the same growing pains, and it took the father many personal talks for his son not to sink into despair.

John piled the sandwiches on Amy’s Sunday plate and poured two glasses of cold milk for the children.

_Well, now I’ll get to see Miss Moppet. Please, Dear Lord, let the girl be cute so my boy doesn’t end up getting teased even more._

Using his hips to open the kitchen's swing doors, John made a grand entrance. “Ta-da! I hope you kids are hungry!”

John spotted his son sitting by the coffee table, reading intently. However, Bethany was nowhere to be found.

“Hey, Simon, where did Bethany go?”

“She’s right here, Dad.” Simon turned around to look at his father.

John dropped the tray the moment he saw his son’s face. Simon’s beautiful blue eyes were completely green.

“Oh Jesus…” John backed to the kitchen doors which were still swinging.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Thurmond,” Simon lisped. “Your son has spoken highly of you. So, when can I meet Jenny?”

The girlish giggle that escaped from Simon was enough to energize John into sprinting into the kitchen and towards the phone. He felt something claw through his shirt, ripping open the skin, but John was like a frightened animal so he ignored the pain and kept on struggling. Finally, it was the slash down the back of his skull that made him turn around and fight.

Simon looked the same, save for his eyes. Even the beatific, grown-up smile was just like his boy’s. For a moment John was convinced he was having a nightmare. And that any moment he’ll startle himself awake in his battered armchair: the one Amy had dragged from house to house, just because she knew her husband was overly attached to the hideous thing.

Simon’s blunt fingers grabbed John’s mouth and started to pull the jaw away from the skull. It was then John realized he was awake. His last thought was about Jenny: that the baby would somehow know there was danger close by and would keep silent until help came.

Since the Thurmond household was located unincorporated part of Hanover, they had no neighbors close enough to hear John’s screams. So there was nobody to catch Jenny’s pained cries for help either.

* * *

  
**October 2007  
Wells, Nevada**

Dean finished the call and looked at Sam with large, worried eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Sam quickly asked, feeling his heart speed up considerably.

“It was Bobby. He needs our help.” Dean began haphazardly shoveling his clothes into his duffel bag. “Something’s killing off families in a town called Hanover in California.”

“Families?” Sam echoed. “Like everyone?”

“Pets included,” Dean said.

Sam quickly typed up the town’s name on his laptop. “Whoa.”

“Is it bad?”

“In a way. One family went missing three weeks ago; no trace of them so far. Then two weeks ago…” Sam drifted off as he scrolled down the screen.

“What?” Dean barked.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam whispered. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder. “Holy shit!”

The grainy black and white photograph featured a kid who looked like he went swimming in an oil tank. But Sam and Dean knew it was blood, not oil, that coated the kid’s face and neck. Even in a black and white picture, the difference in color and sheen came through well enough for a discerning eye.

“He killed his family? His entire family?” Dean said, his voice hollowed by shock. “How? He looks about six.”

“There’s no further info because the court put a gag order on everyone. The kid’s five, by the way.”

“Possession?”

“Looks like,” Sam answered. “This is something new, Dean. Most things we hunt harm or eat kids; they don’t use children as a medium.”

“Demons being the huge exception.”

Sam nodded and powered down his laptop. “Bobby was right to call us.”

“Let’s haul ass then. If we drive through the night we should get to Hanover by morning.”

“Oh, so you’re letting me drive for a change?” Sam asked dryly.

“Maybe,” Dean said reluctantly. “I gotta tell you, your driving…”

“Dude, it was the deer, not me!” Sam hollered as he packed his laptop. “How many times do I have to tell you the damn thing nearly took the back fender!”

“And before that there’s was the possum, a cow - and if I remember correctly – a golden retriever. Man, you just have the worst run of luck when it comes to driving.”

“Shut up,” Sam replied darkly. “And it wasn’t just any old deer. It was a buck...”

“Yes, I know. It was ten point buck. Damn big too from the gouge on the side of the car.”

“Let’s go.”

Sam mentally berated himself for not shooting the fucking thing while it lay on the ground, dazed from the collision. At least that way he’d have proof that it was the damn buck and not him that caused the damage to the Impala. In fact, he should’ve also shot all the animals including the goddamn cat (which he never told Dean about). Sam rolled his eyes then sighed. If he did that, the entire backseat would be loaded with animal carcasses within the month. But, if that happened at least he’d be able to make decent stew instead of resorting to cold cans of Dinty Moore whenever money got tight. Hell, they had enough salt to make a vat of stew if Sam was given a chance to cook.

Then Sam remembered the last time he tried to make stew. And the mess he was forced to clean up afterwards, not to mention the slapdash explanation he gave to Jess about the large discoloration on the kitchen ceiling.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked.

Sam’s grin broadened. “I just remembered what happened when I tried to cook.”

“When was that?”

“With Jess.”

“Something tells me this is going to be one of your war stories.”

“It was a pressure cooker.”

“Dude, no. You didn’t.”

“We got it as a garage sale and the lady said it worked like a charm.”

“If it did, why was it for sale?”

“The lady said she got a new one for Christmas,” Sam mumbled.

“Right, and was there a bridge involved?”

Sam punched Dean in the arm. “Jess had no problem using it.”

Dean took a glance at Sam. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

Dean shook his head. “Man, sometimes I think you got Alzheimer’s. When you were six you nearly took out the entire kitchen trying to make stew for us.”

Sam frowned. “When was this?”

“The week after Thanksgiving? Dad was home and we both got hit with the flu. You decided you were going to make stew for us and…”

Suddenly Sam remembered Dean's panicky shouts, black smoke tinted with the acidic smell of burning metal, and an enraged John Winchester. “Oh hell, I put the cans in the pressure cooker.”

Dean nodded. “Damn right. After that Dad never bought another cooker again.”

Sam turned to his brother when another long-forgotten memory assailed him. “You used to make the best stew. I remember eating bowls of the stuff.”

“Stew, chili, hell, anything I could throw into the cooker. Man, deer meat makes the best stew.”

Sam quirked a look at his brother and the two broke out into soft laughter. “Next time I’ll kill the damn thing, okay?” Sam said.

“Ya know, if there’s a Walmart in town and the price is right, I might just pick one up.”

Sam turned to Dean and asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, save money and time. And having a home-cooked meal once in a while isn’t bad.”

“Nope, it isn’t,” Sam agreed easily. He silently wondered why Dean had brought up the idea of cooking but he wasn’t about to question his brother either. Sam remembered the simple but filling dinners Dean had made in order to stretch out the meager budget their father had when he could find work. When Dean got his first legitimate job, he spent almost all his paychecks buying food, especially fresh fruit for Sam as the youngest Winchester hit his growth spurt with a vengeance.

Sam looked at his hands, then Dean's, and noticed how worn his brother's hands were when compared to his. He had forced himself to forget much when he arrived at Stanford, and Dean’s kindness to him was too painful to even contemplate so it was the first to go. And yet, even after years of neglect, that corner of Sam’s memory still glowed brightly, reminding Sam of the many times Dean had made sacrifices so he wouldn’t have to: clothes, books, and most of all – food. Sam knew now there was no way Dean could have gone to bed with a full stomach when Sam hit puberty, not with the amount he was packing in every day. Dean teased him plenty about his appetite but he had never once complained. And their father never went to bed hungry either, which left only Dean to suffer the lack of a full plate.

“Man, I could go for some corned beef and cabbage,” Dean said, practically drooling as he spoke.

Sam smiled and shook his head. “Hey, at least there’s a vegetable in there somewhere.”

Dean gave him a mock look of annoyance. “I eat my veggies.”

“Deep fried,” Sam added. “Or slathered in sauce and barbecued.”

“Still a vegetable.”

“Deep fried onion rings isn’t a vegetable, Dean. It’s heart attack with breading.”

“Oh man, I could definitely go for onion rings.”

Dean saw Sam wrinkle his nose. “Dude, you like that deep fried green tomato shit.”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah, yours is fried in bacon grease. Mine is vegetable oil, so think before you crap all over my food.”

Dean’s point was valid so Sam kept his peace. The drive to California was uneventful and Sam finally managed to wrangle the keys from Dean when they stopped for coffee refill at a 24 hour mini-mart. Dean was happily snoring away in the passenger seat by the time they crossed into California at four in the morning. Sam wanted to keep driving but he knew better than to start working on a case with Dean when he was deprived of food and coffee. So Sam managed to find a decent diner in a small town only thirty minutes away from Hanover.

Sam led his groggy brother to a booth and, as he suspected, it took Dean three cups of coffee before he could tolerate any discussion.

“Anything new?” Dean asked, bleary-eyed as he took a bite out of his pigs-in-a-blanket.

“Yeah, a local gossip rag managed to get hold of some material. It looks like the kid did it all right. His fingerprints were all over the bodies and they found…” Sam glanced at Dean as he sopped up the maple syrup with the last of his toast.

“What?” Dean asked as he chewed.

“You’re not going to like it,” Sam cautioned as he swiveled his laptop towards Dean.

Dean read the column and went visibly pale. “Jesus Christ, they found hair and skin in his teeth?”

“Kids are known to bite while fighting though they’re discouraged to do so at an early age,” Sam said.

“This kid did more than just bite, Sam. He _ate_ his family if what I’m reading is right.” Dean took a long sip of his coffee. “Any Feds showing up?”

“None, only the local sheriff department is involved. Thanks to September 11, unless it’s a confirmed serial killer case or something that has to do with terrorism, things like this gets a pass from the FBI.”

“Why does that _not_ tickle my patriotic bone?”

Sam gave a cynical smile. “Be grateful, Dean. The last thing we need is for the Feds to be on our backs.”

“It’s not that,” Dean said, sitting back into his chair. “A kid practically had his family for breakfast; wouldn’t that raise a flag or two? Especially when another family’s gone missing?”

“We’re talking about two completely separate events,” Sam explained. “One’s about a family that went for a hike and never returned, and the other is about a kid who went familicidal. There is no connection to be had save for the fact that both happened in Hanover.”

“How large is the town?”

“Incorporated, around 8,000. Add the surrounding area – probably 8,500.”

“Not a small podunk then.”

“No, not really. Its main source of revenue is paper. There are two large mills located ten miles outside of town.”

Dean rubbed his face. “That’s just great. They could've imported whatever this is from some other state."

"Maybe, maybe not."

“Any other weird news?” Dean asked.

“Bobby probably has everything,” Sam replied. “But this looks interesting.”

Dean read a small advertisement for a public auction for a bankrupt farm. “What’s so interesting?”

“From the fine print, the farm failed spectacularly.”

“That’s hardly news, Sam. Farms fail all the time.”

“Maybe, but if you add it all up, it might be something worth looking into.”

“Demonic signs?”

“I was thinking that, maybe an unclean spirit?”

“Or something like Angela Mason.” Dean shook his head, “Man, if it’s anything like the zombie chick, it’s got to be incredibly bad news.”

Sam’s face turned stony for a moment as he remembered the hunt for the revenant and the emotional confession Dean gave after they had successfully destroyed the monster wearing Angela's skin.

“Maybe it’s more than just one zombie,” Dean offered. “Maybe we got some bad motherfucker who thinks he’s…”

“Best we talk with Bobby before you drag in Romero,” Sam interrupted.

“Now that would be cool.”

“What would be cool?” Sam asked.

“If Romero was involved somehow.”

“You realize we’d probably have to kill him, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. “But still, it’d be cool.”

“Your logic fails me. Not that I'm surprised since I’m sane and grounded in earth reality.”

“Probably why you went to Stanford a virgin.”

Sam really hated it when Dean had the last word.

* * *

  
Bobby waved from the porch as the Impala made its way up the steep driveway. Sam checked out the house. It was small but very well kept, and the grounds surrounding the place were breathtaking. Flowers bloomed riotously in the front garden. And, when Sam got out of the car, he was hit with the intoxicating scent of roses though none were visible. Even Dean took a deep breath of appreciation.

“Nice,” Dean said. “Something tells me Bobby’s friend is a woman.”

Before Sam could respond, a woman stepped out from the house, almost shielding herself from view by hiding behind Bobby. The older hunter turned, spoke softly to her. The woman responded with a tight nod before re-entering the house.

Sam raised a hand of greeting as Dean quickly walked up to the house.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Bobby said and clapped them on their shoulders. “Before you go in, we need to talk.”

“About the lady hiding inside?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, Ellis asked me to look into this. He would do it himself but he's still recuperating from that goddamn hunt."

"How is he?" Dean asked.

"He'll live; he's lucky fool considering he went hunting for a Black Dog by himself _and_ found the damn thing!"

"So, who is she?" Sam gave a nod at the direction of the house.

“Her name’s Ms. Tammy Smith. She’s a kindergarten teacher at a local school.”

“Was she Nathan’s teacher?” Sam asked.

“You read about that? Good,” Bobby said. “And yeah, she was. She also taught Hunter Pratt.”

“One of the kids belonging to the missing family,” Sam explained to Dean who looked puzzled by the name.

“Yeah, and she’s about as close to breaking as a person can be, boys. So, be careful with her, okay?”

 _He isn't asking for a favor_ , Sam thought. _He's giving an order. When did he start channeling dad?_

“We’ll treat her with kid gloves,” Dean said with a grin.

“You better,” Bobby growled. “Let’s go.”

The house was even more attractive inside. Sam noticed the furniture was worn but well kept, and bought with an eye towards comfort rather than fashion. There weren’t tchotchkes cluttering up the shelves or tables. In their place was an impressive collection of books revealing a broad range of taste.

Tammy Smith appeared from the kitchen with a tray of coffee mugs. “Come in and take a seat. I’m sorry about earlier, but I had a horrible time with the local papers so I’m not too fond of strangers right now.”

“What did they do?” Sam asked.

“They’ve been harassing me to give interviews. They want me to say horrible things about Nathan Pilcher and I refused. They’ve been calling me nonstop, even sending e-mails every hour, asking me to change my mind. They even offered five thousand dollars for an ‘exclusive’ on how Nathan behaved in class.” She took a huff of breath. “But I’m not saying a word. As far as I’m concerned those vultures can all go to hell.”

Sam saw the look of admiration grow on Dean’s face as the teacher’s tirade grew in both volume and passion. He knew five thousand dollars is a lot of money for anyone, especially a teacher. The papers must have really pissed her off for her to turn them down.

“So, what could you tell us?” Dean asked with none of his swagger.

“Not much, I'm afraid. I transferred from Pittsburgh two years ago,” Tammy replied. “I grew up there and I was very tired of the city life. While most people want to move to big cities, I wanted just the opposite. My mom died not long before so a change seemed right to me. The job opening came up so I applied and was accepted.

“At first it was a dream job. The class was small and the kids were mostly pretty bright. Then, starting last winter it became strange. It was like the children were infected with the flu … but one for the soul, not the body. Then spring came and things went back to normal.”

“Tell them about what you saw,” Bobby said gently.

Tammy gave a resigned glance towards the Winchesters. “It was when school started in September that I noticed real changes. An incident happened during recess; Hunter was playing with Jason Pound and suddenly I heard Jason screaming. I ran to him and found the boy crying. He claimed Hunter burned him. I checked Jason but found nothing wrong. I asked Hunter what had happened and he said he and Jason got into a big argument about whose turn it was to pitch.  
  
“I’ll be the first to admit Jason is a bit of a drama llama but he was genuinely scared. I couldn’t do anything save separate the two for the rest of the day.”

“Did anything else happen?” Sam asked.

“No, the Pratt family disappeared that weekend. I knew they were going hiking, and I thought about telling them what happened, but it didn’t seem like a big deal, especially since Jason never mentioned it again. But now … now I can’t help but wonder if Hunter was responsible for them going missing.”

Sam didn’t miss the way Bobby rested a comforting arm around the woman. He exchanged knowing glances with Dean. _Things just became incredibly complicated_ , Sam thought as he looked down as his notepad filled with scribbles. He had jotted down the names of two demons that could be responsible for what was happening in Hanover, and from the looks of it, he was going to add a few more.

“What about Nathan?” Dean asked cautiously. “Did he act like Hunter right before the family’s disappearance?”

Tammy shook her head. “No, Nathan’s very quiet and he doesn’t have many friends. He and Hunter are two completely different people. Hunter’s athletic, popular and Nathan … well, Nathan isn’t.”

“He’s a shy kid,” Sam said. “Maybe a little overweight? Not good with baseball?”

Tammy smiled sadly. “Not good with any kind of ball, actually. When he came to my class, he was the only one who didn’t know what the alphabet was.”

Dean gave a low whistle. “Poor kid, that must have been tough.”

“It was. He couldn’t read or write, not even his own name. I tried to make appointments to meet his folks but they kept canceling. Finally I asked around and found out he had an older sister named Alice.”

“She was the complete opposite, wasn’t she?” Sam knew from Tammy's startled glance that he was correct in his assumption.

“She was in the third grade, top of her class. Vivacious, smart, and musically talented, Alice ruled the roost like a queen. I couldn’t believe they came from the same family.”

“Were they, though? Maybe one of them was adopted?” Dean offered.

“No, the parents were born and raised in Hanover like their children. If Nathan was adopted there would’ve been talk, especially after what’s happened.”

“People must have talked about the difference in the children,” Sam said. “Maybe they thought Nathan was handicapped?”

“There was talk but nobody could do anything. I can’t force the parents to take their child in for testing without solid proof. And all I had was Nathan was shy, slow to learn, and didn’t like to exercise much. That could describe thousands of children nowadays.”

“What’s your opinion?” Sam asked.

“I definitely think Nathan had some form of learning disability, but his parents neglected him in favor of Alice. I think Nathan was aware of it and probably suffered silently. However, I sincerely doubt that was the cause for the crime he’s accused with.”

“You don’t think he did it?” Dean asked.

“No, it’s just that,” Tammy paused for a moment and looked at them with frustration. “It’s that the flu I was talking about? The malady? It made all the students extraordinarily cruel, and I'm talking practically all the grades. And it's not the usual crankiness you see in children, like when a child doesn’t get his apple juice or her mother forgot to pack a dessert with lunch. It was simple, but what I saw was genuine malice, and not a childish one either. Initially, I blamed it on holiday stress, but now that I think about it, I can’t help but wonder if it was something else.”

“Like you said – an illness,” Sam said. “It touched all the kids but managed to infect two as far as we know.”

“Oh God,” Tammy said, paling dramatically. “You think there are more kids like Nathan?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Bobby said softly. “We have to look around first, see what’s been happening to Hanover before all this started.”

Tammy looked like she received no comfort from Bobby’s reassurances. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, mentally stuck in the hellhole that was the last few weeks. Sam also noticed Bobby's immediate reaction. He reached out to encircle Tammy in his arms and leaned towards her when she rested her head on his chest. Sam also caught the hostile look Bobby threw at him.

Dean gave a polite cough and stood up. “Thanks for everything. Bobby, we’ll call you as soon as we find anything.”

“Thank you for your time,” Sam added and hurriedly left the house, feeling his hackles rise as he felt Bobby’s glare follow him.

Dean remained silent until they were in the Impala. He looked at the house and said, “Okay, tell me your spidey senses were tingling.”

“Something was off but I don’t know what.”

Dean turned to Sam. “Did you see the furniture?”

Sam frowned as he remembered the comfortable furnishings. “Yeah, what about them?”

“They were for a guy, not for a woman.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Didn’t you feel comfortable? I mean totally relaxed?”

Sam nodded then he realized what Dean was speaking of. “You think something’s wrong with Tammy Smith?”

“I think it’s just a little too convenient,” Dean said. “Just because she’s Bobby’s friend doesn’t mean she’s ours. So, don’t give her the soft treatment: I'm not.”

"I have to admit I'd never seen Bobby so friendly with a woman before," Sam added. "Especially when he's on the job.

"What do you want to do?”

“Swing by the library, and I want to go to the farm you talked about. See what the hell happened out there.” Dean took another glance at the neatly-kept house. “Something’s rotten in Hanover and I get the feeling it’s been here for a while.”

* * *

  
Sam looked around the house, breathing through his mouth because of the noxious smell permeating the entire property. At first he thought it was a sign of demonic activity, but as soon as he was able to control his roiling stomach, Sam realized the smell was nothing like sulfur. In fact, it had an icy bite to it, and combined with the slimy wet sensation the air left on his face and any exposed skin, Sam was forced to continuously fight his gag reflex.

Sam checked the EMF meter and found it dead. He even splattered holy water on the dead soil but there was no reaction. Dean had earlier informed him that there was no sulfur residue anywhere in the house and Sam couldn't find any either in the barn or the carport. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd guessed there was no supernatural activity anywhere on the farm and the cause of the damage done to the land was something natural.

“Dude, come here,” Dean cried out.

Sam found his brother at the back of the house, standing in middle of a perfect black circle that was almost five feet in diameter. The entire property was afflicted with a type of blight but the black circle made Sam think that particular patch of land was burned with high-octane fuel.

“Any ashes?”

“No,” Dean answered. “I dug a little: this black color goes down six inches. I’m guessing if I keep digging it’s going to stay that way until we reach China.”

Sam kneeled down besides Dean and examined the soil. “It’s brittle, almost like shale chips. I’ll be surprised if it has any mineral content.”

“No wonder nothing grows around here.”

“But why is this spot worse than the rest of the place?” Sam asked as he sniffed the soil.

“Maybe whatever did this stood here? Rested here even?”

“You’re thinking it was a cursed object?”

“Something like it,” Dean answered. “But I’ve never seen anything like this, Sam. I mean supernatural things can destroy plants but this isn’t just destruction.”

Sam shook his head and cleaned his hands by rubbing them on his jeans. Just the feeling of the dirt on his fingers made his nausea return full force. “No, this is worse. This is draining life, actually. Almost vampiric but it’s not about blood, it’s about life force.”

“Maybe that’s why it goes after kids,” Dean said. “Like the shtriga.”

Sam stood up and looked around. It was eighty-acre property once belonging to Jackson Yates. A confirmed bachelor and a war veteran, Yates purchased the farm in 1968 in the hopes of settling down and seeking peace from a life torn apart by the Vietnam War. Initially Yates prospered as he had the foresight to rotate his crops in order to avoid leaching the land of all its nutrients.

In 1997 Jackson Yates remarried after meeting a woman while vacationing in Japan. A lot of people in Hanover were shocked that the shy man was even able to make conversation with a woman much less woo her into marriage. Nevertheless, Naomi Yates quickly became a fixture in town, if also the center of its gossip. She wasn’t young by any means, but she was a decade younger than Jackson Yates and something of an eye candy. However, if there were overtures by other men Naomi never took them. Her devotion to her husband was genuine by all accounts and the couple had a loving marriage. Then, in 2005, tragedy struck the happy couple. They celebrated Christmas with friends in town before driving back home, and ended up in a car crash only few miles away from the farm. Naomi Yates died on impact but her husband walked away with barely a scratch on him. Things just went downhill for the grieving man and it took less than eighteen months after his wife’s funeral for Jackson Yates to put up his property for sale.

Sam unfolded a piece of paper and stared at Jackson Yates’ skeletal face. If he didn’t know any better he would have guessed the man had terminal cancer. Dean took a glance at the pic and whistled.

“Man, he looks bad,” Dean commented. “I’ve seen better looking corpses.”

Sam put away the picture. “It’s eating him alive, whatever it is.”

“He’s in Denver now, isn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s going to die if we don’t put a stop to whatever is happening here.”

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

The female voice startled them but neither Winchester showed any sign of surprise. Dean looked up at the woman cautiously approaching them and gave a big smile.

“You caught us!” He said jovially. “I’m sorry, I’m Dean Tyler and this is my brother Sam Tyler. Our mother told us about this place and we came out to take a gander. We knew this place would be too big for her but we had to come out, you know? Take a few pictures, maybe.”

Sam took out his cell phone and gave a chagrined smile as an apology.

The woman visibly defrosted when confronted by Dean’s heartiness. “That’s sweet, but you’re right. This isn’t a place for a single woman to retire.” She shook their hands and said, “My name is Olivia Sutherland. My firm’s trying to sell off this place.”

Sam looked around and asked, “This must have been quite a farm back in the day. May I ask what happened?”

“We honestly don’t know,” Sutherland answered. “We had the soil tested for virtually everything in the book but nothing’s popped up.”

“My brother’s an aspiring reporter so he found out something about the previous owner,” Dean said. “What a damn shame.”

“It was. One of the reasons Jackson left was because he couldn’t stand the talk in Hanover.”

“The town blamed him?” Sam asked. “But how could they? It wasn’t his fault.”

“There were rumors that Jackson was driving drunk that night and caused the accident,” Sutherland answered, shaking her head in disgust. “But he wasn’t. I was at the party. Jackson had a glass of champagne but that was it. He was very fastidious about things like that.”

“I was thinking about the wife,” Dean said. “Poor woman, was she buried here?”

“No, she was cremated,” Sutherland said with a sad look. “Jackson didn’t want to, he was Catholic you see, but that was what Naomi wanted so he did it.”

Sam pointed at the black spot. “What happened here?”

"I haven't a clue," Sutherland answered. "There used to a small stone standing there. It was something Jackson brought back from Japan while he was in the Army. He said it was for luck. I think it was suppose to be a lawn ornament but I couldn’t really tell. It was just a small rock and there wasn’t any carving on it or anything.”

“I see,” Sam said. “Thanks for taking the time to answer our questions. I hope you sell this place to someone who knows how to heal it.”

“Heal?” Sutherland echoed. “What a funny word, but very appropriate. Tell your mom to be less ambitious and look at condos. They’re much better suited for a woman her age.”

“We’ll do that,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

Sam managed to hide his amusement until they were in the car. “Were you flirting with her?”

Dean shrugged and started up the car. “It never hurts to make a woman feel appreciated. Yeah, she’s old but look at how she takes care of herself: nice clothes, nice shoes, still rocking a short skirt. All I did was to show her that I noticed. Ain’t no harm in that, Sam.”

“No, there isn’t.” Sam agreed breezily. People automatically suspected Sam was the one who was most capable of getting information from people, but Dean wasn’t exactly a novice at it either. After all, he had been hunting solo for years before he came to Stanford to fetch Sam.

“What’s next?” Dean asked. “Anything else pinging off your radar?”

Sam’s good humor immediately evaporated. “Tammy Smith.”

“I thought as much. Let’s get some dinner first.”

“You want to break into the school?”

Dean’s lips thinned into a hard line. “Yeah, and I bet they got internet so you can hack into whatever database you need to do your mojo.”

“Bobby is going to be pissed.”

“Better pissed than dead.”

* * *

  
Sam poked at his salad, unable to hide his distaste. How the hell could there be grease floating at the bottom of the salad plate when there wasn’t even dressing on the damn thing?

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Sam answered quickly and stole few fries from Dean’s plate.

“Sure, have some,” Dean said dryly as he watched Sam eat.

“Thanks,” Sam replied cheerfully and nabbed the plate of coleslaw from Dean.

“Touch my burger and you’re going to be in some serious pain.”

“I don’t eat raw possum.”

Dean took a large bite and made obnoxious noises while chewing with his mouth open. Sam eyed the other patrons warily as his brother did his best to embarrass him.

“So, about that stone,” Sam said after Dean stopped displaying the food in his mouth. “I’m thinking it’s something Yates brought back from his trip to Japan.”

Dean nodded, “For a moment I thought his wife had something to do with it, but she’s dead.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s out of the running,” Sam cautioned. “For all we know she could've been the one who brought it over.”

“And it killed her?” Dean looked thoughtful for a moment. “What do we know about the her?”

“Not much,” Sam admitted. “From all accounts she was something of a mystery. Here’s a picture.”

Dean took one look and gave a low whistle. “Wow, she was a babe.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Won’t argue with you there.”

“So, if that garden decoration is a cursed object, where the hell is it now?”

“Wherever it is, it isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Think about it. Wherever it goes, it's going to kill any plant life nearby.”

“So, if it’s still here then all we have to do is find a big black hole,” Dean said. “I know Hanover isn’t Denver but this isn’t exactly a small town, Sam. We got miles of unoccupied land to look over.”

“I was thinking, what if the murders happened before? Like a cycle?”

“Then why didn’t we find it in the library?”

“The local papers were digitized from 1985. There might be something back further.”

“We’re going back to the library, aren’t we?” Dean asked, dropping his head back onto the seat. “Oh God, two visits in one day.”

“Life sucks so much for you,” Sam said sarcastically. “How do you ever stand it?”

Dean’s reply was the middle finger and a coffee refill.

* * *

  
“I found something.”

Sam looked up sharply as Dean’s tone snagged his attention. Dean motioned for Sam to come over to his side of the table. As Sam approached Dean’s space he saw what his brother was staring at.

“Jesus,” Sam whispered softly. The picture of the blood-spattered boy was almost identical to Nathan Pilcher. “Who is he?”

“The kid’s name was “Simon Francis Thurmond. Born May 24, 1958. He was found guilty of gutting his entire family with his hands. And that’s including his baby sister who was only seven months old.”

“Did he … eat them too?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope, he just tore them apart, literally. His mother came home from work, found the bloodbath and tried to call the police. Didn’t make it out of the nursery. The kid took her down and ripped her jaw from her skull.

"Okay, that _is_ something new and exciting for us. And really fucking disturbing on all levels."

“What happened to him?”

“He was found criminally insane and committed.”

Sam brightened up considerably at that bit of morbid news. “If he’s still alive we could interview him.”

Dean shook his head. “No, the kid died three months after he was sent to the loony bin. They did an autopsy and found his brain was riddled with holes. The doctor said it looked like a brain belonging to a patient with end stage syphilis.”

“Could it be medical?” Sam asked.

“What are the odds? Two such murders in one town? Three probably if we include the missing family.”

“When did the murder take place?”

“September 29, 1969.”

“Was it in Hanover?”

Dean shook his head as he flipped through two local guidebooks. “No, it was out in the boonies. Near…”

Sam saw where Dean’s finger rested on the map. “Son of a bitch.”

“That’s right next to Yates’ farm.”

“What happened to the Thurmond’s house?” Sam asked.

“Burned down,” Dean answered. “Which is how I stumbled over the damn story to begin with. They called the place ‘Horror Central’ after the murders.”

“No wonder it got your attention,” Sam said dryly. “Still no Romero?”

“Nope,” Dean replied as he leaned back on his chair. “We’re all over the map on this, Sam. I mean we have no spirit activity, and no demon residue, but there’s definitely possession going on since kids are going ‘Lord of the Flies’ on their families. What the fuck is this?”

“You know, Tammy’s school might still have this kid’s records.”

“Did he go to the same school?” Dean asked.

“No, but as Hanover got bigger, the local education board could have centralized the schools.” Sam said as he jotted down information about Simon Thurmond. “I bet if they consolidated, they transferred the records too.”

“Sounds good enough for me. Hell, right now I’m game enough to try the spirit board,” Dean replied. “Sam, I don’t know about you but I feel like we’re running out of time.”

“Yeah, me too.” Sam gave an anxious look at the grainy photo of Simon Thurmond. “Whatever this thing is, it’s far from done.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A supernatural creature is targeting the citizens of Hanover, using the town's children to do her murderous biddings. Sam and Dean have been called by Bobby to help him solve the case. It quickly becomes a race of time as the Winchesters try to find a way to kill a creature older than Christianity.

It didn't take long for Sam to break into the main building of Hanover Central. As he predicted, the town centralized the schools into a college campus-like layout during the eighties, with grades seven through twelve in one building and kindergarten through sixth in another. He had a quick look at the principal's computer and managed to pull up Tammy Smith's performance reviews. They were all without exception glowing, with few reviewers pointing out the fact that her success in Hanover equalled those in Pittsburgh, and that the school was lucky to have hired such a talented teacher. Meanwhile Dean loitered about the main building, trying to locate where the files would be stored. He found the central depository in the basement.

“Man, does this shit ever change?” Dean whispered as he flipped through the files. Luckily, the basement had no windows, so they could use their flashlights without worrying about being caught.

“What do you mean?”

“The way they tabbed the files,” Dean answered as he flipped through 1969. “Red for troublemakers, blue for normal kids, green for braintrusts like you.”

Sam was completely taken back. “They do that?”

Dean looked surprised by Sam's ignorance. “Do you have any idea how many times I had to break into schools to get our records so we could enroll once we move?”

“Jesus, Dean, that had to be over dozen times!”

“Yep, lucky number thirteen to be exact,” Dean replied. “And yes, you were always green or yellow/gold if the secretary felt especially creative.”

“And I’m guessing you were red?”

“Not all the time. Don't look at me like that. Most of the time I didn’t start the fights, and they knew it, either that or somebody told them the truth. I was half and half – red and blue. I was green once.”

“When was that?”

“Senior year in high school. I worked my ass off for that green.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a silent but deep breath. In spite of Dean’s uneducated redneck demeanor, his brother was far from stupid. He may not have gotten into Yale but there would’ve been more than few state universities happy to have someone like Dean.

For a moment Sam imagined Dean in college. He would’ve enrolled in science classes mostly, especially chemistry. Dean would’ve probably charmed the girls in his required courses so they would help him pass, and he would repay by sprucing up their cars if they had any. Dean would’ve loved to participate in collegiate sports. Save for Sam’s brief soccer career, they grew up avoiding organized sports, but Sam knew Dean would’ve been awesome in track and field.

“You okay there, Sam?”

Sam gave a wordless nod and started flipping through the files again. Thoughts like those were dangerous; they crippled him and made him wish for things that were never meant to be – for either Dean or himself.

“Yahtzee,” Dean said as he yanked out a faded olive green folder. “Here's Simon.”

“And here is Tammy Smith's application,” Sam said. “Pretty slim actually.”

Dean started reading. “Simon seems pretty cool kid. Oh … okay, he was fat and it got him into some trouble with bullies but oh, well, look at that.”

Sam couldn’t stand it anymore. “Dude, care to share with the rest of the class?”

“He was friends with a kid named Mike Rendell, a real bad boy who disappeared in 1969.”

“What?” Sam took the folder from Dean and began reading quickly. “His entire family just up and went. The principal guessed it had something to do with bank loans.”

“I’m bettin’ not,” Dean said. “Something got to that kid, just like Hunter Pratt and his folks.”

“Something else: the school nurse became concerned because Simon was having a relationship issue. Simon claimed he had a friend named Bethany Markham, but the girl wasn’t real.”

“What? Like an imaginary friend?” Dean asked. “That’s not unusual for kids, especially if they’re lonely or their only friend suddenly upped and left.”

“He was eleven years old. That’s way too old for Peter Pan, don’t you think?”

“You think she was real?”

“Yeah, I think she was real.”

“What about Tammy Smith?”

Sam opened the folder then frowned. “What the hell?” he whispered and began frantically flipping through the sheets.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“Look at this,” Sam said and handed over the file.

Dean looked. There was nothing but blank pages. There wasn’t one legitimate document archived in the folder. “What the fuck?”

“Glamour,” Sam answered. “This is … this is _magic_ , Dean.”

“But you pulled off her performance reviews, right? They said she was doing an excellent job just like she did in Pittsburgh.”

“Yes, but in reality they’re not reading anything, Dean. They’re reading what she wants them to read. They’re actually _thinking_ what she wants them to think.”

“So, if she isn’t a teacher, then what in hell is she doing with the kids during school time?”

“More importantly, what is she doing _to_ them?”

“Okay, why don’t we drop by and ask the bitch?” Dean said. “It’s obvious she’s the center of all this.”

“And what are we going to do with Bobby?” Sam asked wearily. “Do you think he’s just going to stand by and let us interrogate her?”

“Shit,” Dean hissed. “She got to him too, didn't she?”

“That would be my guess, and that makes this entire situation incredibly dangerous, Dean. He’s a hunter just like us, and he’s been at it far longer. We go busting in there and he’s not going to respond well.”

“So how do we break her glamour? This entire town’s practically under her thrall.” Dean kicked a filing cabinet in frustration. "And what the hell is she anyway? A witch?"

“There's been a forty year gap between the murders so, no, not a witch," Sam replied grimly. "I don't think she's human at all."

"So, what's your best guess?" Dean asked. "Demon?"

"No, I think she's some kind of fae.”

“And I thought this couldn't get any worse. Except for dad, I never heard of a hunter who faced those things and won,” Dean said darkly. “Even dad tried to avoid cases involving the fair folk.”

“We don’t have a choice here,” Sam said. “This thing’s gone homicidal.”

“I know,” Dean agreed, leaning against the filing cabinet next to him. “But they have so much power, Sam. Fuck, they got _wild_ magic: magic that's older than Christianity.”

“Why don’t we first figure out what she is, exactly? We know she’s been here since 1968. I’m guessing Yates brought her over from Japan: probably in that rock.”

“But she must have been sleeping or something because nothing happened until 1969 when she woke up hungry and mean.” Dean looked at the blank paper in front of him and shook his head in awe and disbelief.

“I don’t know if we have enough information to figure out if she’s on a cycle of some sort.”

“Magical creatures don’t really have time tables, or at least ones we humans are aware of. Which was another reason why dad avoided them. The bastards are completely unpredictable," Dean said.

“Well, something woke her up, and something put her on the warpath,” Sam said. “We should get back to the motel and call Bobby.”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if he stayed with us,” Dean said.

“Me too.”

* * *

  
“So what did Bobby say?” Dean asked as Sam hung up.

“He’s coming over to look at what we got.”

“I’m going to grab some Cuervo at that corner mart we saw earlier. Do you want anything?”

“Why do you want to buy alcohol so late in the evening?” Sam asked, glancing at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Think, Sam. We get Bobby tipsy enough that he can’t drive…”

Sam smiled at Dean’s ingenuity. “He’ll crash here with us.”

“And maybe we could slip him some kind of charm while he’s not looking. Just do your research thing and come up with something, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.”

It wasn’t five minutes after Dean’s departure that Sam stumbled upon the kitsune stories in Japanese folklore. He was surprised he hadn’t come upon them earlier as they were very popular. He systematically hit the links then speed read through the material before storing it in his computer or dismissing it as useless.

Most of the stories weren’t translated so Sam had little to go on. However, one story intrigued him enough because it was transformed into both a noh drama and a kabuki play. He read the first link and knew he was on the right track. By the time Dean came back to the motel Sam was finished with reading the three English versions he was able to dig up in the internet.

“Dude, what happened? You look like you just found out you've been drinking decaf for the last year,” Dean said as he unpacked the grocery bags.

“I know what she is,” Sam said. “Dean, we have a huge problem.” Sam knew he sounded more than a little hysterical but he couldn’t control himself.

“What is she?”

Sam’s response was to point at his laptop. Dean slowly took his seat across from him and began reading.

“Fuck me,” Dean whispered when he was done. “She’s a goddess?”

“More and less at the same time,” Sam explained. “She’s a fox spirit, something that came from Nature and that’s with a capital ‘N’. She was never human, Dean, which is why our EMF meter didn’t pick up her trail.”

“So Yates brought back this ‘Killing Stone’ or maybe a piece of it, puts it in his backyard and then what?”

“She finds out what’s happened to her and goes on a rampage,” Sam continued Dean’s line of thought. “Then she realized she could take advantage of the situation and simmered down.”

“But why kill? If the stories are right, she repented after she met the Gennero guy.”

“Gennō, the priest,” Sam corrected. “That doesn’t mean she’s fully repented, or that she even did in the first place. For all we know that part of the story is entirely fictional.”

“So, killing her with an arrow is a bust too?”

Sam paused for a moment. “Maybe not, I'll have to do more research on that.”

“I wonder if we’re talking Elrond arrow or Robin Hood arrow,” Dean said. “Cause we can do bow hunting. Or, at least I can.”

“I’ve been practicing you know,” Sam said sharply. Even after a decade bow hunting was still a touchy subject for the younger Winchester.

“I’ve seen you practice,” Dean replied. “Maybe…”

Dean never got to finish his sentence as Bobby gave his coded knock on the door then on the wall to the left. Sam opened the door with more force than necessary, and it slammed against the wall. But if the sudden bang startled Dean just a bit, Sam didn’t mind.

“Bobby,” Dean said, “you look like shit. Sit down before you pass out.”

Bobby sat down on the armchair and took off his cap.

“You feeling okay, Bobby?” Sam asked, concerned by the man’s pallor.

“No, feeling a little under the weather,” Bobby explained as he wiped off his forehead. “I had the flu few weeks ago. Thought it was over, but now I’m guessing not.”

“Here, drink this,” Sam said, handing over a small bottle of orange juice. He looked at Dean and gave a slight shake of the head. Dean surreptitiously slid the Cuervo behind a stack of books they stole from the library.

Sam waited until Bobby finished the bottle before handing over their research. They had agreed earlier to omit their findings on Tammy Smith as they had no idea how much of a hold she had on Bobby.

“This is good work,” Bobby said. “The Thurmond murders are just old enough for people around here not to know about it. That goes for the disappearances too. I wonder where the families went.”

“You think whatever this is, it took them to the same place?”

“Makes sense,” Bobby said. “It might keep the bodies as a memento of sorts. Or maybe store them in a makeshift larder.”

“We’re also running out of time,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.

“If Thurmond kid’s anything to go by, Pilcher has less than a week left to live. Whatever this thing is, it’s draining Nathan and it'll keep on doing it until the kid drops dead. I'm guessing Jackson Yates is going to end up the same way too, maybe even before Pilcher.”

Bobby sighed and looked down at the papers spread on the battered coffee table. “Boys, even if we do get this creature, Nathan Pilcher won't ever be a free man. The state’s never going to let him go: not after what he’s done or what they think he’s done.”

“We can’t just give up on him,” Sam said, taken back by the Bobby's summation. “He’s eleven years old.”

“And when that kid snaps out of possession, what do you think is going to happen?” Bobby asked. “If he’s lucky he’ll just go right back into the catatonic state he woke from, and then spend the rest of his life like that until he dies. If he isn’t so lucky, he’ll spend his days strapped into a bed, screaming at the ceiling until his voice gives out permanently.”

“It’s not for us to decide,” Sam argued. “We’re here to do a job, Bobby. Remember?”

“Yeah, I do,” Bobby admitted. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m getting punchy from the flu.”

“Why don’t you crash here?” Dean offered. “You can take my bed. The sofa folds out so I’ll be fine. You do look a little green on the edges, and I don’t like the thought of you driving like that.”

Bobby frowned and gave a hard look at Dean, who returned the searching gaze with genuine concern. “Maybe I should,” Bobby admitted.

“Good, you get some rest,” Dean said with a smile as he pulled out extra sheets and pillow from the closet. “We’re pretty much done for the day too.”

Though Sam really wanted to speak to Dean, he didn’t want to do it with Bobby present. Sam knew only too well that Bobby was more than capable of deciphering their whispers. He watched Bobby fall almost immediately to sleep, and listened with trepidation as the man’s chest rattled with every breath. Sam wondered if Bobby was coming down with something more than just the common flu: bronchitis or pneumonia, even.

He heard his brother settle into the sofa and lifted his head a little to see. Dean was half-sitting on his makeshift bed, staring out into the window. Sam saw Dean’s gun shine in the dim moonlight and knew his brother was going to keep watch until four, when Sam would take over. He gave a small nod of understanding before crawling back under the blanket. Best to get some sleep before his shift came up.

* * *

  
Sam woke up to Dean’s shouts. He scrambled to a sitting position and looked at the second bed to discover Dean frantically shaking Bobby.

“Wake up!” Dean shouted then noticed his brother had awoken. “He’s not waking up, Sam. I heard his breathing change and then there was this weird noise. I got worried so I came over and…”

Sam scrambled over to Bobby’s side and asked, “Is he breathing? Is there a pulse?”

“Yeah, he’s got both but he’s burning up.”

“I’ll see where the nearest clinic is.”

Sam scrambled into his clothes and dashed out into the cool night. He saw the sky was turning pinkish and knew dawn was only minutes away. He entered the motel lobby and banged on the table.

“What is it?” The motel clerk came out from the back office with the sound of porn trailing after him.

“Where’s the nearest medical clinic? My friend’s sick.”

“That would be Hanover Community Hospital,” the clerk answered quickly. “Do you want an ambulance?”

Sam shook his head. “No, just the directions, please.”

Within minutes they were roaring off to the hospital.

“What cover story do you want to use?”

“Bobby’s a friend we’re visiting. We’ll use Tammy’s address when they ask us. We’ll say he told us he was sick and that’s all we know. Best to keep it simple.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Damn, what’s happening here?”

“She’s done this before,” Sam explained. “She goes after powerful men. Hell, she took down three nations just to entertain herself.”

“What do you mean? I thought she was from Japan.”

“Nobody's sure where she came from,” Sam said. “She was rumored to have destroyed an emperor in China and a king in India before getting caught in Japan. She has a thing for leveling countries.”

“How? How can one spirit, even if she’s powerful, do something like that?”

“She seduces the leader, corrupts them and then makes them do horrible things just to please her. Then, when the party’s finally over, she drains their life force and leaves.”

“And she starts up all over again?” Dean asked. “Do you think that’s what she did here in the States?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think she can leave behind the Killing Stone. She’s tied to that thing, and as long as it stays here – she has to, also.”

“Why can’t she just seduce someone to move that thing?”

“It’s lethal to humans, Dean. Nobody can touch it and live.”

“But that priest did,” Dean countered. “So there must be some people who could touch that thing and survive.”

Sam paused for a moment and said, “True, but that still doesn’t give us a way to kill her.”

Dean saw the glare of hospital lights ahead and really hit the gas. Bobby was wheeled into the ER where he was taken to the ICU. Sam gave the forged IDs and credit cards, answering questions while Dean guarded Bobby’s bed.

A young doctor who looked haggard enough to be a patient approached Sam. “Hi, I’m Doctor Davidson. I’ll be looking into Mr. Strongwater’s case.”

“Can you tell us anything?” Sam asked. “This attack came on so suddenly. We thought he was getting better.”

“I don’t have the x-rays yet, but from what I’ve read it sounds like he has a severe infection of the respiratory system, probably compounded by the fact it went untreated for so long. It might have started out as a flu but, in all likelihood, it’s something more. Of course, I can’t be sure until the tests come back.”

“But how could he feel better if he’s getting sicker?” Dean asked.

“There might have been some leveling off in the infection, which would give Mr. Strongwater the false hope that he was improving.”

“But it isn’t even flu season yet,” Sam said.

“I know. But I have to say the flu season is starting earlier and earlier every year. Mr. Strongwater is the second case we have.”

“Second?” Sam asked. “Who’s the other person?”

Doctor Davidson hesitated for a moment. He looked at their pale, waning faces and then his patient’s. “It’s Principal Connelly at Hanover Central. He was admitted last week. He’s sixty-two, supposed to have retired by the end of the school year.”

“Damn, that’s a real shame,” Dean said, keeping his voice carefully modulated. “How’s he doing?”

“Well, actually,” Davidson answered. “He’s responding to the antibiotics we gave him, which we’ll be starting Mr. Strongwater on as soon as I get the results back.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “Please, call us if anything happens.”

“I will,” Davidson said. “Now go eat something and get some rest. You won’t help your friend any by getting sick yourself.”

“We’ll do that,” Dean said.

* * *

  
“I’m guessing she whammied the principal,” Dean said. “Take him out, maybe grab the job herself somewhere down the line?”

“It fits with her previous behavior,” Sam agreed. “But why take out Bobby? He dies, Hanover's going to be overrun by hunters before sunrise.”

“Maybe he wasn’t suppose to die,” Dean said. “Remember, he really was sick, so her mojo did an extra whoompf on him. And I’m betting she didn’t expect him to call us either.”

“But that means we’re on her radar.”

“So, we take her out before she gets to us,” Dean said.

“But how?”

“Look, just because she's a god doesn't mean she can't be killed. Remember, we took out the Trickster.”

“Okay, but how are we going to destroy something we can't even find?"

Dean pulled out their old walkie-talkie and waggled his eyebrows gleefully. “I bugged her classroom.”

Sam’s eyes widened dramatically. “You did what?”

“I bugged her classroom with one of our walkie-talkies while you were at the principal's office.”

“How long is that going to last?”

“Good enough for ten hours,” Dean replied. “I wired the thing to extra batteries so it’ll have more juice. What’s the worst that could happen if she finds it?”

“Come after us, which she’s probably planning to do anyway,” Sam said.

Dean gave a full-wattage grin and turned on the walkie-talkie. Nothing but dead air greeted them.

Sam looked at his watch. It was ten past nine. “Are you sure that thing’s wired right?”

Dean nodded. “Dead sure. Maybe she found it and trashed it already.”

“Ms. Smith, how about here?” a tinny voice echoed out of the walkie-talkie.

“It’s a nice choice, Duke, but I need a place that is far from people.”

“How about the Carr place?” another child suggested. “It’s far from any county roads. My daddy told me he used to go there when he was young because there was a swimming hole. It’s all dried up now so nobody goes there anymore.”

“Maybe, let me write it down. Thank you for that excellent suggestion, Justine.”

Dean’s face was a perfect reflection of Sam’s confusion as they listened to the bizarre conversation.

“I think Justine’s pick is good,” a girl piped up. “I remember my daddy telling me the Carr family left the place because the farm ran out of water. So nobody’s going to notice the change.”

Sam turned off the walkie-talkie. “They’re talking about moving the Killing Stone. That’s why they need a place that won’t raise any suspicions when the vegetation starts dying.”

“Even better, it means the damn thing’s still around. And now we know she’s definitely tied to it.”

“So, at least she doesn’t have plans for global domination,” Sam said then added, “yet.”

“But what are we going to do when we find the damn thing? We can’t just haul it away.”

“I have an idea, actually,” Sam said. “I was thinking about my old knife.”

“No, absolutely no fucking way are you going to touch that goddamn thing!” Dean barked. “Not after what happened last time.”

“Look, now that we know what that yellow-eyed bastard did to me, I think I know how to handle it without getting sick.”

“Sick?” Dean said, looking wild-eyed. “I’m sorry, you being in a coma is something just a little more serious than a case of the trots.”

“It’s a holy weapon, Dean.” Sam willed himself not to sound weary. “The antique dealer told dad that it could…”

“Coma, Sam, coma.” Dean’s eyes were hard and his voice harder. “Jesus Christ, I thought …”

“Wasn’t your fault, Dean. It was my idea to practice with it.”

Sam remembered the moment all too well. He had been sparring with Dean and wanted to continue with weapons instead of just fists. He had rummaged through the weapons cache when he saw the familiar suede bag. Sam had smiled and opened it, grateful to see the well-worn box made of yew. He remembered taking off the lid and grabbing the smooth handle to the scythe-shaped blade.

The next thing he saw was Dean’s haggard face looming over him. Dean checked him out of the hospital as soon as possible, and then drove aimlessly for hours before Sam was able to get the entire story out of him. He had collapsed the moment he touched the handle, and was immediately rushed to the hospital where he was declared to be in a comatose state by the neurologist on duty. The doctors had run a battery of tests but nothing that could tell them why Samuel Winchester was in such a condition. And, even when he had woken up, they still couldn’t figure out why. That was more than Dean or Sam could take, especially so soon after Jess’ death, and the two bolted out of Colorado as fast as possible.

In the weeks after Dean had tried to unload the weapon but Sam managed to talk him out of the idea. First off, they didn’t know if anybody else would have the same unfortunate reaction to the blade, and there was also the mystery as to why Sam was unable to touch it when, in his youth, he had used it quite often. Dean handled it once, much to Sam’s consternation, but nothing happened.

“All right, then, let me use it,” Dean said. “You can’t handle it, so who else is left?”

“I’ve seen you handle it, Dean. A thirteen year old girl wouldn’t have any problem taking you down.”

“Dude, better me than you in a coma; don’t you think?”

Sam couldn’t argue even though every bone in his body balked at the idea. “All right, but we’re going in there armed with more than just that.”

“Silver, iron, and bow and arrows made out of yew and ash, just in case.” Dean looked at the walkie-talkie and said, “Where do you think the stone is now?”

“I’m betting it’s still somewhere on Yates’ land. They couldn’t have moved it far.”

“They?”

“Whoever Tammy used to help her.”

“Oh, so … dead people, you mean.” Dean looked thoughtful. “You know, that might just make it easier for us to find the damn thing.”

* * *

  
Sam stared grimly at the sky as a murder of crows circled overhead. Dean had pointed them out earlier and they headed towards the direction where the birds gathered. It was painstaking process as they had to make their way way through the dense foliage that divided Yates’ farm from government land.

It was the smell of putrefaction that alerted the hunters they were on the right track. Sam also spotted bird droppings all over the place.

“Looks like they went for the full buffet,” Dean said then came to a dead stop. “Shit on a stick.”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder before looking away. The stone was standing dead center of what could only be described as a kill zone. There were corpses of adults and children along with dead animals, mainly raccoon, all surrounding the vector that was the Killing Stone.

Sam saw the gloves on the corpses. “I guess they can touch it for a little while, at least, before dying.”

“They must have carried it,” Dean said as he scanned the surroundings. “No way a car could reach here.”

Sam cautiously approached the rock and circled it. He sniffed the air and found it icy just like the Yates' farm, and the moist, slimy sensation was also present. “It doesn’t look manmade. How the hell did Yates get this thing here?”

“Through a shipping firm,” Tammy answered from behind them. "I convinced two American soldiers to steal the rock and send it overseas to Jackson. They followed me in their own boxes, of course."

Sam whirled around, his gun trained on Tammy who tossed their walkie-talkie in front of him. Dean took two steps back, towards the stone.

She stared at Sam’s gun, then leaned forward and took a deep sniff. “Silver. Oh, that’s charming. Not that it would do any good, boy. I’ve lived centuries before your pathetic carpenter walked the earth. So, that little trick won’t do where I’m concerned.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because humans need to be taught,” Tammy answered. “Your arrogance allows you to think you rule this earth like none before. But, as you can see, that’s not true. Before you, there were gods like me. And though some of us faded, there are enough of us left to thin the human herd once in a while.

“And, also, because I _like_ it.”

“Why wait so long?” Dean asked. "If you're so damn strong, why aren't you in the White House instead?"

Tammy shrugged. “I was tired from centuries of sleeping – of being bound to that rock. It took me years to gather my strength and take physical form.”

“Why did you come here? Why didn’t you stay in Japan where you would be feared and adored?” Sam asked.

“I heard American soldiers speak of their homeland while they walked by me, and I got curious. I wanted to see this marvelous land of yours, with its valleys, its sprawling plains and mountains … so many mountains I can lose myself in. Thousands of miles of forests where I could make home and nobody could hunt me.”

“Sorry to rain on your parade, sweetheart, but you ain’t never seeing any of them,” Dean said.

Tammy smiled, and it made her beautiful. Sam’s heart almost stuttered in shock as he watched her eyes crinkle like Dean’s as she laughed.

“You are a dear,” Tammy said. “You remind me of someone I used to know centuries ago. He made the same threat, but he couldn’t make good on it, unfortunately for him.”

“Was he a hunter?” Dean asked.

“No, a prince: the heir to the throne actually,” Tammy answered. “His father, the emperor, skinned him for my pleasure. It took him almost an entire day to die. I miss him, even now.” She added the last sentence off-handedly.

Sam saw a blur to his right and knew it was his brother charging towards Tammy. He watched Dean unsheathe the knife and plunge it into her chest before skirting to her right.

She looked down at the weapon sticking out of her torso and frowned. While clucking her tongue Tammy pulled it out and threw it aside. Sam charged then, emptying his gun while unsheathing a sanctified knife from their collection. Tammy grabbed him by the throat and forced him to his knees.

“Like I said, I am not one of your demons.” Tammy’s voice hardened. She threw what looked like a backhanded slap but Sam thought he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. He was catapulted over ten feet and a tree was the only reason he didn’t travel any further.

Sam groggily pulled himself to his knees just in time to see Dean grab his knife again.

“Yo, Foxy Lady!” Dean shouted, diverting Tammy’s attention from Sam. “Sayonara!”

He plunged the blade into the stone. An invisible but powerful shockwave knocked Sam flat on his back again. He opened his eyes just in time to see a rain of dead crows coming down on him.

Sam heard Dean’s shout of disgust as they were showered with feathers, bones, and offal.

“I’m gonna hurl,” Dean said in a thick voice as he stood up, slipping on blood and bird innards.

Sam nodded in agreement and tightly kept his lips closed as he cautiously made his way to Dean.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I figured she was bound to this friggin’ thing for so long it became a part of her. She was right that we couldn’t kill her with our usual stuff, but that didn’t mean the stone had the same protection.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief and admiration. Seriously, Dean could probably solve the Middle East Crisis given enough coffee and motivation. After making sure neither were injured too badly they looked for the creature's body, but there was only a black scorched mark where she stood.

“Let’s get back to the motel and wash this fucking gunk off!” Dean said as he shook his head, sending bits of crow intestines flying everywhere.

“What about the stone?” Sam asked.

Dean turned to look at the blackened rock with the shattered weapon embedded in it. “Ain’t nobody gonna come looking for that in the next two hours.”

“Still,” Sam cautioned.

Dean sighed. “We’ll bury the fucking thing. Is that okay with you?”

Once more Sam approached the stone. But, this time, there was nothing to indicate it was in any way supernatural.

“Huh,” Sam said and reached out with a finger. As soon as he made contact the stone exploded, covering both him and Dean with fine, powdery grey dust. The remnant of the weapon fell to the grass before it shattered into slivers finer than a toothpick.

Dean started coughing immediately as he inhaled the powder. Sam closed his eyes in sheer exhaustion as he imagined how they must look.

“What the fuck, dude?!” Dean hollered.

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know it was going to do that!” Sam yelled back.

"Jesus Christ, this shit's never going to come off!" Dean snarled as he took off his leather jacket and examined the damage.

"Let's just go. We have to clean up," Sam said. "We have to visit Bobby, remember?"

Dean closed his eyes as his shoulders sagged. "Oh Christ, that's not a conversation I want to have."

"He deserves the truth."

"I know," Dean said. "Just not that kind of truth."

"I know what you mean."

"Let's get it over with," Dean said and marched resolutely into the blackberry bushes. Sam followed him wordlessly, his steps much heavier than his brother's.

* * *

  
Bobby's face seemed to age as Sam told him what had transpired earlier.

"I was here for almost an entire week," Bobby said, "and I missed everything, while you were here for less than two days and managed to break the case. Jesus, she must have done some job on me."

"She was an ancient creature, Bobby," Sam said. "She's brought down empires. You can't blame yourself."

"Maybe, maybe not," Bobby looked at Dean. "You picked up on it mighty quick, though. How?"

"Simple," Dean said, "it was the way you acted towards Tammy. I've known you for years, Bobby, and you would never let a victim in a case get emotionally attached to you. It'd be taking advantage of her, and you're way too good a man to do something like that."

Bobby's smile was thin if also genuine. "Guess not. Damn, so she's really gone?"

"Yep, stone's turned to dust and she's nothing but a black mark on the ground." Dean gave a sigh of satisfaction. "It could've been a lot worse."

"I wonder what the town will think now that they're no longer under her thrall," Sam said. "I mean, the kids, their parents, even the principal - what's going to happen to them?"

"Probably nothing," Bobby said. "It's going to sound strange, but I can't remember Tammy's face. And my memory of her is fading fast."

"Sounds good to me," Dean said. "Best if she's completely forgotten. That way nobody's going to go looking for her."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said.

"You sound disappointed, Sam," Bobby said.

"It's just that she's been around for over two thousand years," Sam explained hesitantly. "Could you imagine the kind of knowledge she possessed? The things she's seen?"

"The nations she's destroyed, not to mention families?" Dean added sarcastically. "The woman was a psycho. The last thing we need is someone like that roaming around here."

Sam shrugged sheepishly. "I know, it's just that..."

"It's a waste, I'll give you that," Bobby said, "but Dean's right. She was much too dangerous."

"And, on that note, we'll get going. We'll be back tomorrow to help you get discharged, if the docs are actually letting you leave," Dean said.

"They better," Bobby groused. "I've wasted enough time in Hanover."

"Take care Bobby," Sam said.

"Thanks, boys. I mean it."

"Least we could do," Dean replied before heading out. Sam followed his brother in thoughtful silence. The drive back to the motel was quiet as each Winchester took some comfort in a successful hunt.

"I wonder - how did Yates not figure out what he had?" Sam asked.

"Like Tammy said, she was weak. She probably had just enough influence over Yates not to ditch the stone. And, after the murders, she probably went into hibernation to gather her strength."

"Maybe," Sam said.

"Jesus, Sam, could you turn off your brain now?" Dean asked as he started to take out his gun cleaning kit. "I can practically see the smoke pouring out of your ears."

Sam rolled his eyes and flipped open their father's journal. Ever since he'd rejoined the family business, Sam had begun adding his own notations. It brought him comfort, somehow.

"By the way, there's a Walmart in town," Dean said.

"Walmart?" Sam echoed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "The pressure cooker?"

Sam smiled. "Okay, when do you want to go?"

"Before we swing by the hospital tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," Sam said. "Let me see if I can dig up a coupon on the internet."

Sam found a valid coupon on a website and started thinking up of all the different stews Dean could make and how wonderful they were going to be, especially since the cold season was just around the corner. He also made a resolution that the next time he hit a goddamn deer, it was going to become his next meal.

* * *

  
Olivia Sutherland looked at the chaos spread out in front of her. She made a noise of distaste as she daintily stepped over a corpse. A high, thin whine grabbed her attention and she immediately followed the noise to a tree stump. Hidden behind it was a small golden fox with an oversized tail that was charred at the tip.

"Oh there you are," she whispered and picked up the wounded creature. "I was so scared when I couldn't reach you."

The fox curled into a shivering ball and made a pained cry.

"I know, I know," Sutherland cooed. "Don't worry. I'll make sure those bad men never find you again. Remember that realtor friend of mine in Canada? I finally got the call today from him. He found a nice vacation home in a town near Banff National park. I think it'll be perfect for you. All we have to do is get you rested and healed. Does that sound good to you?"

The fox answered with a soft yip.

Sutherland laughed gently and placed a light kiss on the golden head. "That's what I thought. Let's get out of here, shall we?"

**The End**


End file.
